


neon lights, paradise

by fenying



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols, Forbidden Love, M/M, McDonald's, Non-Chronological, Sneaking Out, well not really. just advised against
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23868631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fenying/pseuds/fenying
Summary: Mark, for lack of a better word, isinteresting.Jeno wants to find out what lies behind the façade ofMark Lee, ambassador’s son.
Relationships: Lee Jeno/Mark Lee
Comments: 14
Kudos: 107
Collections: nono birthday bash





	neon lights, paradise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [misleko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/misleko/gifts).



> hi xin! i'm still working on the fic i first started for you, but i hope you enjoy this little appetizer before the main course! love you lots!
> 
> title is a mash-up of two bits from _paradisin'_ and _tokyo love hotel_ , both by rina sawayama

It’s late when Jeno steps into the small McDonald’s, Mark hot on his heels. There’s only one employee sitting behind the register, head bowed forward like she’s about to nod off. Jeno scans the rest of the place—two girls sitting in a booth, one man getting up to throw his trash away. Other than that, it’s empty. He adjusts the mask sitting on his face and tilts the brim of his cap down.

“What do you want?” murmurs Mark, from behind him. Jeno can’t see him, but he can _feel_ him, warmth lingering in the narrow gap between their bodies. Sometimes Jeno wishes he would close that gap. It may not be proper decorum, but then again, neither is sneaking out to McDonald’s in the middle of the night.

“Chicken nuggets.”

Mark snorts. “Dignified.”

“Chicken nuggets are a gift to humanity,” Jeno argues. “Don’t judge me for my sinful desires.”

“I’d never dream of it.” Mark steps out from behind him to look closer at the menu. Jeno takes the opportunity to let his eyes trail over the slope of Mark’s nose and the line of his jaw. If anyone looked like born and bred royalty, it would be Mark. “After you, your Highness,” he says, throwing his arms out in a grand flourish.

Jeno rolls his eyes, checking Mark with his shoulder. “Annoying.”

Mark pretends to be thrown back from the impact, grinning. “But you love me.”

In retaliation, Jeno orders a Happy Meal, just because he can. When the cashier asks what toy he wants, Mark asks for the Barbie. “What?” he says, when Jeno shoots him a look. “Barbie’s badass.”

“Are you even allowed to say that word?”

“Are you going to tell on me?” Mark counters. He’s got a point.

Jeno lets Mark add his burger to the order. He pulls out his wallet when the cashier reads off the total, balking when he sees what’s inside. He’s out of cash—all he has is the black card with his name on it. The cashier is probably too tired to really notice, let alone do anything about it, but he’s not sure he wants to take that chance.

Before he can debate any longer, though, Mark hands the cashier a stack of crisp bills. “My treat,” he says, lips curving up at the slight surprise Jeno doesn’t manage to hide.

“What a gentleman,” says Jeno.

Mark sticks an even fatter wad of bills into the tip jar as they go find a table to wait for their order at. “Only for you.”

It’s difficult for Jeno to definitively describe his relationship with Mark. Everything gets a little more complicated when you’re the son of the President and the son of the Canadian ambassador to South Korea, respectively. They’re no idols, but they’re still public figures.

If he really had to say, it’d be a little more than acquaintances, a little less than friends, and a bit of something else entirely. They’ve known each other for years. Mark’s number sits in Jeno’s phone, conversation untouched most of the time. But every time Jeno sees him, he can’t deny the pull they have on each other, a force stronger than reason bringing them together. Mark, for lack of a better word, is _interesting._ Jeno wants to find out what lies behind the façade of _Mark Lee, ambassador’s son._

In any case, there’s a bond of camaraderie formed out of the common pressure of being the son of high-ranking public officials that ties them together. They see each other at parties, at galas, at conferences, and by the end of the night, it’s always just the two of them.

Last time, when Mark had shown up with his hair slicked back and two new studs twinkling in the lobes of his ears, teetering on the edge of stylish and unruly, Jeno had thought for the first time that something might happen. Last time, when they’d run into each other in the hotel bathroom and Mark had rolled his cuffs up and loosened his tie, blazer slung over his arm, Jeno had wanted, for the first time, for something to happen. Something. He didn’t know what he wanted that something to be. He still doesn’t know.

But something.

In the end, nothing had happened. They’d stepped out of the bathroom together only for Mark be called away by his father immediately, and Jeno hadn’t seen him for the rest of the night. Later, Mark had texted him that it was a pleasure to see him, and he was sorry he couldn’t talk for longer.

Ever since then, Jeno’s been waiting for something to happen.

It’s a bit stuffy to keep wearing the mask inside, but Mark doesn’t look uncomfortable at all. “How have you been recently?” Jeno asks him.

“I’ve been well,” says Mark. “Busy, but well. You’d know that if you bothered to text me.”

“I’d text you if you bothered to answer,” laughs Jeno, failing miserably at pretending to be offended. It’s hard for both of them to get enough time in the day to even fire a message off, let alone sustain a conversation—which just makes moments like this even more precious.

Mark unbuttons one button of his shirt under the windbreaker Jeno had loaned him, tie left in the backseat of his car. It’s unfair how good he looks in the harsh McDonald’s lighting, arm slung casually over the side of the booth. “Fair enough.”

When their food is ready, Jeno goes to pick up the trays, sifting through his Happy Meal for the toy and handing it to Mark. “As requested, one Barbie doll.”

“A role model for girls and boys alike,” declares Mark, setting his burger aside to accessorize Barbie. “You know, when I was a kid, Barbie taught me that I could do anything I set my mind to.”

“Oh yeah?” Jeno watches him play with the doll, entranced by the motion of his fingers. “And how’s that worked out for you so far?”

“My career’s coming along, but I have another goal I’ve been pursuing.” Mark sets down the doll to look Jeno straight in the eye. Jeno matches his gaze. “It’s a work in progress. From the way things have been going, I’m hoping to accomplish it soon.”

Today, it’s a party to celebrate a new trade deal. Jeno’s mother gives a speech on how this will boost the economic success of both nations, and the audience claps at how eloquent the President is. After the main event is over, Mark finds him lingering near the refreshments table, saving him from a drawn-out conversation with one of the young elected officials trying to get in good with the President’s son.

“You look good,” he says, making a show out of dragging his gaze up and down Jeno’s body.

“As do you,” Jeno returns diplomatically. The champagne in his glass is flat already; he swirls it around idly, just so his hands have something to do. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself.”

“I am, thank you.” Mark takes a sip out of his own glass, tilting his head back. Jeno’s eyes are glued to the line of his throat. “I like people-watching during these kinds of events. You see all sorts of people—for example, the man sitting on President Lee’s left seemed awfully bored with the whole thing.”

Jeno startles, about to tell Mark that it was _him_ sitting on the President’s left, until he catches the smile in Mark’s eyes. _Tease._ “Was it really that obvious?” he asks, abashed.

“Only to me,” Mark assures him. “I’m sure everyone else thought you were the picture of perfection. The President’s dutiful son,” he fake-swoons, “smart, kind, and humble. A man among men.”

Jeno laughs. “You flatter me too much.”

“No more than you deserve.” Mark sets his glass down on a nearby table. “To your credit, it’s hard not to get a little bored with these events if you have to attend them all the time.”

Mark’s never been subtle, and after all these years, it’s become so easy for Jeno to pick up on the hints Mark lays out for him like gold in the sand. “Wanna get out of here?” he asks, lowering his voice.

Jeno likes all of Mark’s smiles, but he likes the ones with a touch of mischief the most. “Thought you’d never ask.”

“Was this the goal you were talking about?” asks Jeno, breathing stuttered as Mark trails kisses down the line of his neck. His back is braced stiffly against the car door, but it’s easy to ignore in the moment.

Mark pauses, and Jeno reins in a whine. “To be honest, I didn’t think I’d get this far,” he says. “I was just hoping to go on a date with you.”

“Well, we did that.” Jeno pulls him up by the collar of his shirt, bringing their lips together.

“It was at McDonald’s, though.”

“I can’t kiss you when you’re talking,” says Jeno, whining for real this time when Mark smiles against his lips. “I was promised making out in the back of my car, not you harassing me about my choice of venue for our date.”

Mark laughs at that, so hard he has to pull away. “Imagine if the tabloids found out,” he wheezes. “They’d have a field day. I can already see the headlines: _Things Getting Hot and Heavy Between Lee Jeno and Ambassador’s Son! Political Affair or Just Unbridled Passion?_ ”

“Oh my God, you’re horrible.” Jeno laughs too, far too endeared to be annoyed by the interruption. “You’re totally ruining the mood.”

“I’m sorry,” whines Mark, dragging out the vowel, and leans over to plant a sloppy kiss on Jeno’s cheek. His head falls on Jeno’s shoulder, and Jeno softly pats the top of it. They’re both a little too tired for this. “But I wanna take you out on a really nice date next time. Pull out all the stops.”

“I don’t know when you can,” Jeno answers honestly. “I don’t know when the next time we’ll see each other is.”

“Me neither,” says Mark, “but I’ll make it happen. Remember what Barbie told me?”

He sits up to look at Jeno, really _look_ at him, and Jeno looks back. Even in the low light, he can see the fondness swimming in Mark’s eyes. He’d drown in that emotion if he could.

Jeno cups Mark’s cheek with his hand. “You can do anything you set your mind to,” he says, leaning in for a gentle kiss. “So I’ll hold you to that promise, Lee Mark.”

Jeno is eleven when he attends his first charity ball. His parents are too busy networking to pay much attention to him, so after they spend a few minutes showing him off to friends and colleagues, he’s handed off to a caretaker for the rest of the night. He’ll only have to stay for another hour before he’s whisked back home, with the excuse that he’s a growing boy who needs his sleep and he has school the next day.

But he’s already so _bored_.

All he can see are adults, adults talking, adults mingling, adults laughing in their own little circles, having their own secret conversations that the rest of the world—including Jeno—isn’t privy to. Not that he’d want to join in. What do adults even talk about, taxes?

After he spends what feels like forever sitting at one of the round tables and fidgeting with his hands, he finally asks if he can go get another cup of water. He takes the long way to the refreshments table, unwilling to return to his seat any time soon. It’s not like he has a conversation to get back to.

He fills up his cup slowly, ready to walk back when someone bumps into him. The cup spills—fortunately most of the water lands on the carpet and not _him_ —but Jeno is knocked to the ground too, catching himself on his elbows. There’s a flurry of motion and an “oh no, I’m so sorry,” before his vision clears. There’s a boy standing in front of him, a hand stretched out. “Are you okay?”

Jeno’s heart leaps for joy. A _boy._ Another kid, and one that seems to be around his age, too. “I’m okay,” he says, accepting the boy’s hand.

Once he’s properly upright, the boy says again, “I’m really sorry about that.”

“It’s okay.” This is the best thing that could’ve happened to Jeno all night. “What’s your name?”

“Mark,” says the boy. Jeno rolls it around in his mouth, liking the way it sounds. “What’s yours?”

“Jeno.” He forgets to pick up the cup. Someone will chide him for it later, but he could care less right now. “Hey, do you know anything about Pokémon?”


End file.
